Fake
by Daeva Shadow
Summary: Dean and Sam might be states apart, but they're always thinking about each other. NOT WINCEST.


A/N: This just came to me one night while listening to a Shinedown song. This is pre-series, so there are no spoilers! Yay!

Disclaimer: I own nothing...except my socks. Then again, I might not own those...Supernatural belongs to the great and powerful Kripke and The CW.

---

He'd been holed up in yet another crappy motel room for a week now. His dad didn't seem to be in any hurry to get out of this place, though the fact that they had a reasonably good bar here could've been part of the reason he didn't want to leave. Dean sighed and rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. There were multiple cracks in it, along with a few questionable yellow spots that had slowly been expanding. If he didn't know any better, he'd be willing to guess that the whole thing would eventually collapse from the water-damaged spots. Smiling slightly, he was about to roll over to tell his brother about his little theory, when he remembered that he wasn't there anymore.

He hadn't been for six months now.

Suddenly feeling claustrophobic, Dean rose from the bed, grabbed his jacket, and headed out into the biting wind that had been blowing ever since he and his dad had arrived. As it assaulted him with full force, he turned his collar up and hunched his shoulders, trying to keep the wind off his face. As he walked down the small main street of the town they were in, Dean remembered times when he and Sam would go explore each of the small towns whenever their dad went out. As those thoughts came to him though, darker ones took over.

Thoughts of never seeing Sam again ran through his mind. Sure, Dean called every once in a while, but Sam never picked up. So Dean left messages, hoping against all hope that his brother might return a few of those calls. Judging now from the lack of response, Sam didn't want anything to do with his former life.

Though Dean was happy that Sam had moved on, he couldn't help but still shelter his feelings of resent. It felt good to resent his brother, even if he knew that doing that wasn't the real answer. He wasn't proud of those feelings either. But they were there, and when they surfaced, he didn't worry about feeling very proud. No one was around to judge those feelings, or tell him not to think them anymore.

So there the feelings stayed.

---

Sam looked up from the text book he'd been reading and rubbed his tired eyes. Midterms were coming closer, and he now spent most of his time in the library, only leaving when the librarian all but threw him out. He could almost hear his brother's voice taunting him about his library fetish. _You've gotta get out of there dude. There's only so much information one can pack into their head before it explodes. And right now, I'd say your head is at that point._

He shook his head at the phantom comment that ran through his mind. Leave it to Dean to point out every little problem he could find with a library. Smiling a little, he felt a small pang of homesickness come to his heart. He missed Dean, not his dad, but he sure as hell missed his brother.

But Dean didn't understand why he'd left in the first place. Didn't understand how it felt to be misunderstood by everyone in his family. He knew his brother tried to understand everything that he went through, but there were some things that even Dean would never get, no matter how hard he tried. Sighing, Sam pulled his cell phone from his pocket and began looking through the few pictures he had on his phone. Most of them were of him and Dean messing around with random things.

Looking through these pictures sent out another pang, but this one was of guilt. Dean should be here with him, making something of himself. Getting a career in something that didn't involve killing anything supernatural. Sometimes Sam wished that Dean had gotten out earlier. He would never understand why his brother stuck by their father so faithfully when he knew there was a chance to escape the madness that was their lives. Though, a part of Sam really did understand why Dean didn't leave. It was because of him that he never went for anything. Sam had kept him from doing truly great things with his life. And now, he didn't know if his brother would ever aspire for anything more than the life he was leading right now.

All he could do was hope.

---

Dean still remembered the argument Sam and his dad had the night Sam left for Stanford like it was yesterday. The time leading up to the argument had been relatively pleasant. Both had been pretty calm that day, neither at each others throats. Though, as Dean looked back, it was probably because Sam had spent most of the day with him while his dad went down to some of the local businesses to get some information on the area.

Then night fell.

Night had always fascinated Dean. It seemed to bring out the worst in people, and he both hated and loved night for that. He couldn't really explain where the love came from. Maybe it was because he could see the true colors of people. He didn't have to make any second guesses when he met people. They removed their masks and showed their true colors. That's where the hate came in. When they removed the masks, it was never for the better. People always got hurt when the worst sides came to play.

Maybe that's why that fight had broken out so suddenly. Dean mused to himself, turning the corner and finding a bar just around the corner. Walking into it, he quickly ordered a beer and sat down. Taking a drink of the liquid, he closed his eyes at the burning sensation that traveled down his throat. As the music pulsed in the background, Dean let his mind travel back to the night his brother left him.

If anyone asked him, he'd fought like hell to get his brother to stay. In the end though, Sam had ripped himself from his brother's grasp and gone out the door. Leaving Dean's soul broken and bleeding, hands bruised from the battle he'd put up. After Sam left, Dean didn't see his dad for days. But when he did finally show up, they both packed up and moved on, Dean forcing himself to be open to this new life, knowing there wasn't much else he'd be able to do.

---

Sam rubbed his aching neck as he made his way back to his dorm. After he'd finished looking at the pictures, he'd decided to call it a night. Finally opening the door to his room, he threw the keys onto the counter and walked back to his room. Plopping down onto the bed, he stared at the ceiling, still not able to get his brother out of his mind. Putting his hands behind his head, he sighed and let his thoughts wander.

To his dismay, the thoughts settled on the night he'd taken off for this place. For a new life. He would never forget his final conversation with his brother.

_"Sam, you can't just leave." Dean's voice was almost pleading as he watched his little brother angrily stuff his things into his bag._

_Sam whipped around, "Why not Dean? Dad told me to get out. I'm only following his orders like a good little soldier. I'm finally being what you are. Following daddy's orders without question."_

_Dean flinched at the harsh words, "But what about me?" he asked quietly._

_Sam stopped, "What?"_

_"You heard me."_

_Sighing, Sam ran a hand down his face, "Come with me."_

_The plea, so simple, and yet so loaded. Dean shook his head, "I can't. Dad-"_

_"I don't give a damn about Dad, Dean! Come with me, we can leave this life!"_

_Dean's eyes darkened, "I can't just leave Dad. He needs us around. Both of us."_

_"Not me." He growled, shoving the last of his possessions into a bag. Picking it up, he walked toward the door and opened it, "I'm tired of trying with him. And if you're going to stay with him, fine. Just don't expect me to come back."_

_The door slammed, and Sam hadn't spoken to his brother since._

Sam knew he was harsh when he'd said that to his brother, but he knew that if he hadn't said that, he'd never have left the house that night.

---

It was almost midnight when Dean stumbled back into the crappy motel room that he and his dad were calling home. When he collapsed onto the bed, he heard a voice talking to him, "Been wondering when you'd get back."

He rolled his head lazily over to where his father was propped up on the other bed, "Well...hi to you too Dad..."

"Great. How much have you had to drink?"

Dean held his hand up and pinched the fingers together, then began to widen them, "This much."

John rolled his eyes, "Nice Dean. Well, when you have a bitch of a hangover tomorrow, I'm not helping you out."

"Gee, thanks Dad."

Nodding slightly, John settled into his bed, "Get some sleep, we've gotta be up early. Found another job in Nebraska."

Dean sighed, "Yeah Dad, sure." Rolling fully onto his back, he stared up at the cracked ceiling once more. Sure, he could put on an act for his dad, and he'd think nothing of it. But he wasn't sure how much longer the mask would hold, and when his dad gave him strange looks, Dean smiled, but a constant mantra ran through his had.

_I can't fake it._

_---_

_A/N: So what did you think? Love it? Hate it? Drop me a line and review:D  
_


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